The Change
by LonelyTowers
Summary: This story follows the Beast's perspective as his transforms from a spoiled aristocrat to a hungry beast, then to a human once more. Loosely based on the 2017 movie.
1. Chapter 1

It took three days for the curse to take over.

At first, the castle remained exactly the same. All the servants breathed sighs of relief, and the Master felt confident that the old hag really had been a raving lunatic. Little ailments that popped up here and there among the staff, but those were not so out of place in everyday life. Madame de Garderobe's knees became stiff, as they did in wet weather, and she found it difficult to climb up and down the great staircases. Chip caught a chill, and stayed in bed to fend off a fever. Cogsworth spent more time daydreaming than shouting orders to the staff. All of these things easily slipped the Masters notice, and he slept peacefully in his lavish bedchamber.

On the second day, Mrs. Potts was the one who brought the Master his breakfast. "Lumiere is ill," she informed the Master. "After breakfast you must call a physician."

The Master, not accustomed to taking orders from a servant, even one he liked as much as Mrs. Potts, demanded that he see Lumiere first. As she led him through the castles dark corridors, he had to shake his head to dispel the feeling that all of the shadows had deepened, and the castle walls were taller and colder than ever before. Mrs. Potts stopped in front of a wooden door, knocked, and silently led the Master in to behold his valet. Surely Lumiere could not have always been so thin? As the servant struggled to sit up in bed for the prince, the Master saw through his nightshirt the protruding bones of his ribcage. More disturbing still was the yellow hue of his skin and nails. "Gangrene, perhaps." Mrs. Potts said in a low voice to the Master. "Please, he needs help."

The Master nodded and sent Mrs. Potts to call a physician. He hurried from the small bedroom, and stalked toward his library, hoping the familiar books would soothe the uncomfortable twist he felt in his chest. As he threw open the large doors, dusty air whooshed around him and filled his lungs, making him cough violently. Plumette must have been here, disturbing the dust. He absently trailed his fingers over the spines of leather bound tombs, and frowned as his breath formed clouds in the air. The sudden chill, the strange sicknesses… surely these were common at the change of seasons. The Master yanked a random book off the shelf, turned to march towards a sofa, and nearly stumbled across Plumette, sprawled across the floor. At his yelp of surprise, she raised her head to stare at him through glassy eyes, then collapsed once more. The twist in his chest grew hard, and black dread clawed into the Masters heart has he lifted Plumette from the ground. Her lips her blue, and she felt light as a feather. After depositing her next to Lumiere, he settled back in the library and tried to read, though more often he stared into the fire place and willed its cold light to warm him.

The next morning, the Master woke to a quiet house. He laid in bed, trying to hear the familiar sounds of quiet footsteps, hushed laughter, rattling china, and cheerful birdsong. There was nothing. Panicked, he threw on a cloak and went searching for a sign of life.

Downstairs, he found Madame de Garderobe weeping that she and her husband's legs had grown so stiff that neither could move beyond the confines of their rooms, trapping them on separate levels of the castle.

He found Lumiere and Plumette holding hands as they both seemed to shrink before his eyes.

He found Cogsworth wandering the garden, muttering nonsense to himself.

Finally, he found Mrs. Potts gently rocking her son as fever ravaged his tiny body. The Master stood at her door, horrified as tears coursed down her weathered cheeks even as she soothed Chip. A sudden needle of pain stabbed him in the chest, and he let out a grunt of pain. Mrs. Potts turned at the sound, and waved the Master over to her side. "There was a sudden squall, and the Physician couldn't get through the pass," she whispered through silvery tears. "He will try, I'm sure, tomorrow, but I fear by then it will be too late." She stroked Chips hair off of his sweaty forehead, and the Master saw his eyes rolling behind thin, purple eyelids. "What is happening to us?" she whispered, more to herself than to the Master.

He ran from the room. He ran from the castle. He ran to escape the cloud of darkness that filled his home, so different from the one that had settled there after his mother's death. That one at least he could hold at bay through decadence. But this was different, and he did not know how to fight it. He could only run.

A full moon peeked above the pine boughs when the Master, exhausted now, turned to stumble back to his bed. He had reached the edge of his rose garden when pain seared his entire body. He slumped to the ground, screaming as limbs turned to fire. Everything burned. He felt his joints sizzle and pop as his bones thickened and stretched, bruising his skin from the inside. His muscles layered on top of one another, erratically contracting and crushing him beneath their weight. He felt two prongs curl out of his skull, his teeth rearrange in his mouth, and nails pull his fingers to form claws. Coarse hair forced its way through his skin, growing despite the scabs they created.

And the Master wept. He wept for his own transformed appearance, and the suffering of his only friends in the world. He felt himself suffocate, knowing this was his fault alone. Just as he felt the guilt choke out his life, something cold crept into his mind. Something unafraid and uncaring, whose dark, animal fingers curled around his own fear and lifted the guilt from him, allowing him to breath once more. In his mind, The Master felt this new presence, felt its strength, and how it quickened at the sound of the distant wolves. He knew that this was his choice now. Keep his own mind and live under the weight of guilt and sorrow, or become an animal and live by instinct alone. No longer crying, the Master embraced this new conscious, and abandoned all of the sorrow and love that had made him human.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you, whoever you are, for your amazing review! You're so sweet! Right now, I'm thinking that this will shake down to look like a series of vignettes from the Beast's point of view. Sorry to keep you waiting for the next upload!**

 **And to everyone else, thank you for reading! I love reading reviews and messages, so if you like/dislike/have-an-opinion-of-some-sort-that-you-would-like-to-express, make sure to comment!**

The days all blended together for the Beast. Time was no longer divided by the rising of the sun, but had become a perpetual stream to float upon. He needed only to satisfy his bodily needs as they occurred. Hunger and exhaustion alone motivated him into action. There was no joy in this life, but neither was there anger or pain. The Beast desired for nothing but his immediate survival. In between feedings and naps, he could be found up in the eastern tower, staring emptily into the forest. Most of the castle staff trembled any time he came across one of their paths, frightened by his new appearance. Except Mrs. Potts, of course. Now functioning efficiently in their porcelain skins, Mrs. Potts and Chip tried to draw the Beast out. "No amount of glowering will solve this," the tea pot scolded one day. "At least eat one of Chef Bouche's soufflés. No one else here can."

"Madame!" sputtered Cogsworth from his hiding spot around the corner, forgetting his own fear due to the sheer cheek displayed.

"Oh shut it," hissed Lumiere to the quivering clock, bending further at his metallic waist to watch Mrs. Potts berate the Beast. Behind him, an array of silverware, coffee tables, and brooms held their breath for fear of Mrs. Potts' safety.

The little tea pot puffed a noisy sigh, and watched sadly as the Beast remained perfectly still. She wasn't even sure he had understood her. After waking up in a new form, she had made the choice to keep on living. To remain human in her spirit, and not succumb to the temptation of slipping away into inanimation. All of the staff had. But the one person who could free them from all this was the one who now seemed beyond reach. "I know you're in there somewhere, Master. We're all waiting for you to come back," she tried to reason. "We've all seen the goodness in you, even though that witch couldn't." She waited another beat for some response, but left after receiving none.

Soon, the castle's inhabitants lost their fear of the Beast. They became used to his continuous silence, even comfortable with it. They freely chatted to one another as they worked, regardless of whether the Beast was pacing up and down the halls or sleeping in a corner. Some even found humor in the absurdity of the situation. "Fine weather for a hunt today, Monsieur?" Lumiere would cheerily call out to the Beast as he stalked towards the grand entrance. "Finer for romance, I think. Do not hurry back from your lover's hairy arms in time for your evening brood!"

They were not happy, but at least they achieved some sense of peace. They even kept a slender flame of hope alive. Small gestures demonstrated their tenacity- Chip found the witch's rose flung aside in the corner of the ballroom, and Cogsworth immediately ordered it to be preserved and displayed in the west wing. Monsieur du Jardin and Brickston, the gardener and groundkeeper, collaborated to build a glass hothouse to keep winter's chill at bay and the many exotic plant specimens alive. Chef Bouche still experimented with dishes, so no unexpected visitor could catch him off guard.

So when the tired, old French man stumbled through their gates one evening, the castle staff were nothing short of delighted. Finally, someone new and something interesting. As Maurice wined and dined, many were thankful for their Master's newfound apathy. The old Master certainly would not have allowed such frivolities at his own expense. And when the Beast lumbered into the room where Maurice slept, his frail fingers still clutching a rose plucked from the hothouse, everyone expected him to pass by silently, as he had for the past months.

The roar of anger and pain that erupted from the Beast's maw shocked all who heard it, including the Beast himself. Anger sliced through him, waking his mind from its catatonic sleep. Suddenly stripped of his stagnant placidity, the Master was bowled over by wave after wave of sensation—the spring of the soft carpet under his feet, the smell of evening tea and heady florals, and the pain of anger and sadness. Panting and disoriented, the Master reached out a paw to steady himself against the wall, only to find that he was still crouched on all fours. He reared up onto his legs, feeling his tendons groan with the unfamiliar movement. How long had he been mindless? He looked wildly around the room now, searching for what had shocked him into life.

There in front of a roaring fire sat the old crone from that fateful night. Her cloak still dripped from the rainstorm outside, and her gnarled hand still offered him the glowing rose. _Not possible,_ the Beast thought. He clenched his eyes shut, willing the image to go away.

When he dared to open them again, vision had faded, now replaced by the old man who shivered in fear, hugging a blanket and flower to his chest.

Bitterness gathered in the Master's mouth. He worked his tongue and jaw, still not sure if he could speak through them. "Did she send you here?" he managed to croak.

"I don't…. I'm sorry I just needed shelter…. No one—"

The Master cut him off with a quick shake of the head. "I know the twisted ways of those hags. She sent you here to test me," he sneered. Catching sight of the rose, the Master felt both his heart and snout twist in anger. "Heavy handed with the parallels, but she clearly is not one for subtlety."

The old man gaped in confusion, "I swear, I'll leave this inst—"

Once again, the Master interrupted him, caught up in his own paranoia. "A test to see if I've changed," he muttered. A flash of pride stiffened his back. _He_ was Master here. Not some crazy crone. He would not be played with, as if he was some toy. At least, that is what he repeated to himself as he dragged the fragile old man to the dungeon and locked him in the dark.

However, after the surge of arrogance and adrenaline subsided and the Master clambered up to his familiar tower, he was left feeling….. well, just _feeling._ And as he faced encroaching misery, the Master retreated once more into the arms of apathy. He became the Beast once more.


End file.
